Bonds
by gelfling
Summary: Sand family trio. Temari-centric. Showcasing how a family of psychotics interacts and survives each other on a daily basis. Light humor, hopefully IC, slightly waffy, and short.


Light humor, hopefully realistic and IC, slightly waffy, and short. Sand family trio. Temari-centric. Showcasing how a family of psychotics interacts and _survives_ each other on a daily basis—it's just like the Partridge Family! Really! I was really trying for light humorI like it.

**B****onds**

I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on.  
-Ugo Betti

"Put him down Gaara—please? I know he deserves it," Temari smartly ignored the panicked grunt several yards above her head. "But we need him alive and he'll nose-bleed to death if you keep him upside-down much longer."

The youngest member of the family didn't spare her a glance.

In Gaara lay the culmination of decades of research, sacrifice, and avarice. He was, to date, the finest blend of artificially created occult inhuman power and shrewd human intelligence, while still seeming somewhat sane, if not actually _being_ sane.

He was also just over fourteen years old with the mind of seven-year-old boy who didn't want to finish his spinach.

"No."

Temari's face darkened momentarily. Yes, she wasn't suicidal enough to provoke the baby of the family too much. Yes, she had a temper of her own. _Yes_, the eldest of the family irritated her lethally on daily basis and probably _did_ deserve whatever got thrown at him. But…

It wasn't good to let an animal get used to biting the hand that fed it. It led to problems.

"If you hurt him, he'll bitch for weeks. If you kill him, we'll _both_ have to fill out paperwork until we bleed _and_ we'll get reassigned another new member."

Temari paused. Gaara hated people. Or rather, having to _deal_ with people. He dealt with them badly, and they broke fairly soon.

There was a muffled, "Ie ate oo," from above that both ignored.

Temari tilted her head to one side. "If you put him down, I'll grind some ice for sherbets."

Gaara still didn't turn around to face her, his attention on the lump of sand and body against the pale sky. But he did answer.

"I can do that myself. I don't need you."

Which summed it all up rather charmingly in red. Gaara, in his own defense and for sick pleasure, had killed ninja more experienced and older than himself, and _way_ more advanced than his siblings: chunnin, jounnin, and the rare fighter who rose above standard classification. He made it painfully obvious that he really didn't _them_ to keep breathing. He still said he didn't need them at _all_, even after whatever Naruto had said to him. He didn't threaten them with death anymore—just prolonged hospitalizations.

Temari held in a sigh.

She was beginning to find it helped to think of Gaara _not_ as a loose flying knife or half-starved predator (even if he did look like one), but rather like a wild animal finding that laying next to the fireplace was nicer than being out in the storm. Not necessarily _better_, which explained the occasional regressions, but warmer and more comfortable. It wasn't taming—it wasn't even domestication. It was more like reaching a compromise, an understanding between the normal and freaky.

"Yeah, but I'll be making it _for_ you. Special."

Gaara didn't turn around.

Personally, Kankuro thought he hit the earth a lot _harder_ than strictly necessary. On the ground, the flat still-not-_alive_ ground, he groaned. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong or differently or even why he'd been _attacked_, but everything hurt unfairly. Individual muscles called out for a revolution and justice before getting tired and wishing they had a drink instead. Or some ice. And a nap too.

Temari snorted and kicked him in the ribs, "You're such an _idiot_. How the _hell_ you managed to live this fucking long is—"

A lifetime is a long time—long enough to learn how tune that _annoying_ monotonous little _buzz buzz_ sound out, and Kankuro did, but not before reasserting his authority as head of the family.

Still face down, annoyed, pissed, and aching, Kankuro chose the best reflexive answer to most of his arrogant snot-nosed sister's sweet nothings. Temari glared at the raised finger, at the back of his head, kicked him one final time and marched inside.


End file.
